


Leather

by lifeofsnark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, F/M, It's not super hardcore though, PWP, Smut, and fucking, this is just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofsnark/pseuds/lifeofsnark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon!Dean is very much a Dom, and he enjoys tying you up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather

Demons were like evil snowflakes, they were all a slightly different flavor. Actually, demons were reflections of the soul they’d been before- in Dean’s case all that desperation and love and honor just turned inside out. He had no boundaries, didn’t worry about consequences, and certainly didn’t second guess himself or ever feel guilt. 

As a human lover he’d been all about the pleasure, a sucker for a breathy plea or a fist tugging tight in his thick hair. Now, as a demon, he still gave pleasure (plenty of women would testify to this) but it was on his terms. His way. His pride in playing your body like a tightly wound instrument that sang the tune of _Deandeandean._

You were currently strapped to a bed in a motel suite, leather ties holding your limbs out to the sides of the beds, a delicious sensation of helplessness washing over you. There was just a tiny little bit of fear in there, the worry that he might go too far, but mostly it was adrenaline and lust spiking your heart rate. He’d given you a safeword (salt) and quipped that if Lucifer had to have permission, then so did he, whatever that meant. 

He was pacing around you, soft denim jeans open and riding low in his hips (no boxers or briefs for him), the baby fine hair trailing down from his bellybutton disappearing beneath the cotton material. 

He was dragging a flogger over your skin, the thin strips of lambskin (this guy went all out, the leather felt like  _butter)_  lightly skimming your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. 

With a flick of his arm and a leer of his mouth he lashed the little leather strands over your breast, bringing the blood rushing to your already pert nipple. The little bite of the flogger was quickly replaced by tingling pleasure and you tugged a little bit against the restraints, bucking up for more friction. 

The flogger kissed over your skin again, making the other breast, your belly, thigh, and achy pussy all overstimulated and shivery-sensitive. Dean laughed darkly, voice like velvet over steel, eyes like the green stained glass of an abandoned church- hollow and flat, the light gone out.

He came and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand stroking gently over your belly and between your breasts, the other rubbing circles on your cheek.

“Good?” he asked, voice deepening with lust, a whisky rasp of want. 

You nodded and he produced a ball gag from his pocket, carefully but firmly slipping the leather band around your head. It was terrifying and freeing and utterly titillating, you didn’t have to move or think or even speak, you were a creature that existed for the pleasure of Dean.

He looked down at you, gazes locked. “Still good?”

You nodded.

“New safe sign.” He held up two fingers. “You wanna tap out you toss up the peace sign, deuces and you’re free. Show me.” He lightly smacked your hip, so you raised your hand off the bed and held up two fingers. 

“Good girl,” he crooned, running the pad of a still-calloused finger over your open lips. He shifted on the bed, kneeling between your splayed legs. You expected some kind of touch to your lonely cunt, you were wet and sensitive with anticipation.

Instead, something cool and rubbery pinched one nipple, then the other- little silvery rubber-coated clamps were hanging from your breasts, the thick chain in between sending little tugs straight through you and into your pussy. Dean gave an experimental tug, and you moaned a little bit around the gag. 

“So pretty,” he purred, running his broad hands up and down your side. “Nice little package all decorated for me.”

He palmed his cock once or twice, rubbing up and down the length before bumping against your hungry entrance. He settled against you, thrusting in, hips keeping a deceptively strong rhythm between your soft thighs. Each forward rock of his hips ground his pubic bone into your clit and you knew that  _he knew_ it. He kept you on the edge, thrusts keeping the chain between your nipples swinging, kiss-swollen lips whispering obscenities in your ears. Every time you got close, your stomach muscles jumping he backed off.

He kept you right there, balanced on the edge of perfect pleasure, for what felt like hours. Eventually a tear, then two, leaked from your eyes, your entire body over stimulated. That’s when Dean finally let the tension snap, and then the room went white and you were moaning around the gag, little bits of saliva escaping from between your teeth, limbs shaking in their bonds. He followed you over with quiet control, heaving against you powerfully enough to rattle the head and footboards. 

While you came back down he unstrapped your wrists and ankles, gently rubbing each one to get the blood flowing, inspecting them for the bruises that would likely form. He freed your nipples, rubbing a little bit of salve in just in case. 

Finally he curled you into himself, his bulk generating a warmth that no blanket could match. You snuggled against him, tired and satisfied and happy, perfectly content. 

Dean, (or the demon once known as Dean) thought about leather. About how he grew up on leather bench seats, wore his father’s leather jacket, and now fucked with the leather community, his life gone full circle.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I do something right or wrong? Please let me know!   
> For more little drabbles and fics, I am on tumblr @winchestersandwordprocessors. Thank you for reading!


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